The Avatar Series: Books 1,2,3

By Jeffrey Alan Henning

Follow the Avatar of Death, John Ashkore, as he does Death’s bidding in the mortal world through three exciting books! Following Death’s orders, hunted by relentless FBI agents, and encounters with other Avatars make John sink deeper into who he needs to be in order to survive. The Avatar of Death lives five hundred years, he can kill with a touch of his Artifact’s power, move around the world at will, and tell you when you’re going to die. Teaming up with the Avatar of Luck, they seem to be drawn into conflict that could change how the entire world works. Can the Avatar of Death stay alive long enough to see the impending war between the Avatars of Earth, or will he fail and let Earth fall to those who would change it?

Find out in this exciting series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffrey Alan Henning
• Release date: Dec 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370215133

Jeffrey Alan Henning

Jeffrey Alan Henning currently resides in Colorado Springs and works as a Network Defense Analyst for MEIT. He currently holds a degree in Creative Writing for Entertainment Bachelor of Arts degree at Full Sail University and is currently working on self-publishing his works.

Book preview

By:

Jeffrey Alan Henning

Chapter 1

John Ashkore sat on the park bench, looking at the sky. It was heading into the witching hour, if you believed in that sort of thing. If you didn’t, like John, it was close to three in the morning. It was exactly one month after that painful New Year’s morning, the year of two-thousand. The partial moon was clouded over, giving off little of its silver-white light to the area that surrounded his bench. As he looked up, he gazed at the cloud covering the moon, wondering if he chose the right path in life. He laughed. Life. Was he even alive anymore? His former mentor, Tomas, had killed him, or so John thought. It certainly felt like dying. Tomas stabbed the very Artifact that he now carries into his chest. He knew what it would do beforehand of course. He knew what he would become.

The Avatar of Death.

He sighed, verbally letting the air escape his lungs. As he did, he was quite startled when a man started speaking next to him.

Tough night, eh? The man said. He was a vagrant. An outcast of society living in John’s park. John wasn’t surprised, this man represented part of the reason he liked this park. Fuel. Souls.

Something like that. John said, taking a silver case out of his suit pocket. He dressed for success, even as out of place as he would be in this park. Opening the case, he took out a cigarette and held the case towards his bench-mate. He looked around as he did so, ensuring they were alone. He saw no one else. He felt no one else.

The man took a one of the offered cigarettes, noting the expensive looking case. He could eat for a month if he pawned that. Thanks, He said, quickly averting his eyes after noticing John looking at them. Got a light too, friend? He asked as he patted his dirty ruined coat down.

Yes, I have a light.

Of course. John said as he reached into his coat, making it look like he was fumbling for a light. While he did so, he felt for the man’s life-span. Short, very short.

The man puffed out his lips, pushing the cigarette between them towards John. Faster than he could have comprehended, a bright purple light erupted from his chest. He looked down to see John had stabbed him with some type of knife, with a dark handle. The purple light came from between the hilt and his chest.

John pushed the man to a sitting position. The corpse’s head lolled back. John left it. He stood up, put his knife - his Artifact - back in the holster under his suit coat. After straightening his coat, making it look like he had nothing under there, he walked off. The cloud passed over the moon as he left, ensuring the next passerby would see the corpse.

Forty Eight. John said aloud, as though nothing at all had just happened.

Chapter 2

Sometimes I wonder why I accepted this appointment. Was it fear of dying? Fear of going to the other side? Or was I looking for something new in life? Was I looking for something more exciting than working for the Internal Revenue Service? Always with the people trying so desperately not to get caught doing the illegal things they were doing? Do those very white-collar criminal excite me? Is that why I did it?

My new life is tons more exciting, after all. I mean, who else can move around the world taking portions of mortal souls and giving that power to other mortals so they can further Death’s ends, except Death himself? Sometimes I think about playing God (If he even exists) and question my morality. Then I say to Hell (if it even exists) with morality, give me the excitement!

People will give anything, and I mean anything, to live longer. Usually I just ask for cash, or services if they have a particularly useful skill. Sometimes I don’t ask for anything, which will really confuse the clients. Though once I stave off death with my power, they always want it again later. Sorry people, it’s a one-time only affair.

I have powers that are quite astonishing - while not being overly dramatic. I used to read comic books when I was younger, and I don’t have any of the outward abilities that most heroes or villains have. I can’t manipulate metal, I can’t shoot laser bolts from my eyes, and I’m definitely not the greatest detective in the world. But I can tell you how long you have to live, and I can use a doorway like no one else can. I’ll live 500 years. Oh, and I can kill you by siphoning your soul, or use a part of someone else’s soul to lengthen your lifespan, that’s probably worth mentioning.

When I do happen to die, hopefully in about 493 years, I wonder if Death will say something spectacular to me. Perhaps he’ll say Well John, at least you had a good run.

While that wouldn’t be as spectacular as I’m hoping, it does sound like something he would say.

John Ashkore

Fifth (and current) Avatar of Death

January, 2007

Thomas was having trouble sleeping. It felt as though he was dying. His chest felt too tight, he was sweating a lot more, and he had trouble sleeping through the dull headaches he seemed to always have lately. Perhaps he was dying, and he didn’t know it. Or perhaps he did know it and was too stubborn to accept it. Regardless, he lay there, awake again, staring at the high bedroom ceiling while rubbing the pain in his chest. As if it helped. His house was fashioned in a Victorian style, so he moved his eyes to the molding that edged the bare white ceiling. The molding had an intricate design which he had used on many occasions to put himself to sleep. Counting sheep was for the poor.

The moonlight streamed through the huge windows that made up the wall to his left, so he could make out the details of the entire room quite clearly. Everything was in its proper place - the standalone boudoir he bought a year ago in France, the freestanding lamp between his favorite chair and the small table next to it, his new treadmill bought only 2 months ago, and the brand new, wide screen television on its own stand. He could even barely make out the keys to his new 2007 BMW sitting in an ashtray on the small table. Thomas was a fanatic about things looking neat and proper – he made a mental note to move the keys to the key box when he gets up in the morning.

Thomas lived in a big mansion, North of Chicago, on the lake. The mansion was the type of house you only see in the rich and famous magazines. Only he wasn’t famous - infamous, maybe. He was fabulously wealthy though. He was known in the business world, legitimately even, as a cutthroat CEO of a major pesticide company. Illegitimately, he was known for various things ranging from fixing problems to dumping toxic waste in Lake Michigan, though no one could prove either.

He was also very health oriented. He exercised constantly, at least six times a week. He usually felt like his body was a temple, but lately… lately he had been feeling run down. His doctors couldn’t figure it out, and just assumed it was stress related. It definitely wasn’t a heart problem. He ate healthy, never smoked, and didn’t drink much. Sometimes though, no matter what your lifestyle choice is, Death will still come for you, like he did tonight.

In the corner of his luxurious bedroom, a shadow moved slowly. It moved just fast enough that it wasn’t the fading moonlight. It moved slowly enough that he caught it out of the corner of his eye as he was following the molding around the room. He sat up instantly, grabbing the pistol on his nightstand, which was already loaded. He deftly flipped the safety and pointed it at the area where the shadow had moved, while calmly saying, Who’s there? When you deal in enough shady activity (no pun intended), you tend to be prepared for things like this. Thomas always was.

You know who I am, Thomas William Waide came a raspy voice from the shadows. It was a voice, and it was in his thoughts at the same time. Whatever it was, it was a creepy feeling that sent chills down to Thomas’ spine – further, if that’s even possible.

No, I don’t - show yourself. Step out of the shadows. Thomas was confused. He knew the voice, somehow, but couldn’t place the face. He dealt with a lot of people, and there were a lot of people who would love to see him dead.

He slowly moved his free arm to turn on the light on his nightstand. As he pulled the chain, there was a quick snapping sound from the bulb. Damn! He cursed at the blown out light bulb. The shadows in the corner swirled.

You know why I’m here, Thomas. Time is running short for you. Contact John Ashkore. He will help you. Be at Warehouse Six on the docks in Eureka, California at the next full moon. The shadows swirled again, making his curtains flutter as though a small breeze passed by them.

Thomas was staring into nothing, thinking of what the shadows just said. He didn’t even notice that the shadows returned to normal. He only came back to his senses as the light bulb he thought was blown flickered to life. He looked around the neat room to ensure no one was there. After deciding that the room was empty, save himself of course, he got out of bed and pushed the curtains aside. There was nothing but a wall hiding there.

Thomas had no idea what just happened, or who this John Ashkore was, but he swore he would find out.

* * * * *

It was after midnight, and the caffeine from the soda must have been kicking in. Stephan felt better than ever, he felt alive, on fire. This always happened to him when he was nearing completion on his latest computer virus or hack. His last one was remarked as One of the deadlier ones by most of the worldwide news centers. While not being the deadliest, he was still proud of it. That one, once it had infected a computer, it over-clocked the processors, running them at over one hundred percent utilization, which inevitably resulted in them burning out. Nearly twenty thousand computers were destroyed by that, and one entire building caught on fire. Apparently, they hadn’t wired one of their computers right, resulting in the building being set ablaze. He was a wanted man in three countries for that virus alone.

Stephan made money through various donations to his cause - his cause being mayhem on the internet and destruction of people’s information. Sometimes he was paid for a specific task, otherwise, like his current project, just to cause strife for internet users in general. His job made him travel a lot, under the radar. He had his car, which was a newer Ford Taurus, his laptop, and a bag full of clothes in the trunk. Statistically, the Taurus is just average, with low theft rates, and pretty low on the chances to get pulled over. He also never stayed in the same place twice, which helped him stay out of the law’s hands. It was a tiring pace of life, but he almost had enough money to retire in some foreign country, Switzerland perhaps. Away from the law. A couple more jobs like the one he was working, and he’d be set. Retiring at twenty-four was looking pretty good in his eyes.

Tonight’s creative process came live from the wireless access point in a little diner in Indiana. The only reason he stopped here was the sign that said Free Internet! Well, that and his rumbling belly.

He stored all of his work across random servers on the internet. Every time he booted up his laptop, it pulled all the pieces together so he could work on them. It was better this way, in case he ever managed to get caught; he’d have nothing on his laptop but the program which combined them and even that required several passwords. If one is entered wrong, the laptop would become useless.

As he was frantically typing his code, and listening to techno music on his iPod, the lights started flickering. Taking his earphones out, he looked around slowly. He noticed that it wasn’t just the lights. Everything electronic in the all-night diner was flickering, even his laptop had rebooted as he was checking it out. He was the only patron in the diner. The only other people were the waitress and the cashier this late at night, and they didn’t seem to have noticed it.

Being nervous that the long arm of the law caught up with him again, he quickly packed his things, which were just the laptop and his iPod. He threw a twenty on the table and dashed out the door to his car. Luckily, it was a small place, and his car was about thirty feet away from the door. Just that short run took his breath away. He was a computer geek, not a jock. As he would always say, I exercise the mind, the body can do what it wants.

Jumping into his car, he shoved his laptop bag into the passenger seat unceremoniously, and quickly started it. He tore out of the parking lot and down the road, and only starting slowing after gaining about ten miles between him and the diner. He thought it was very strange. No cops, no FBI, no nothing. He had thought it was the Feds cutting the power, like they did when they almost had him at a hotel in Michigan.

After about an hour on the road, the caffeine and adrenaline was losing its effect on him. He stepped on the gas, very anxious to get to his next location, which was pretty much anywhere that there was civilization. The last sign he saw said it was another eighty miles to anywhere. The road had no lights, and the only other light source was the moon overhead. Every now and again he had to slow down; he thought he saw something moving, deer most likely. They were notorious in these parts, according to the waitress in that dingy diner.

Stephan Michael Alnsa a voice said.

Stephan slammed on his brakes, and as he did, three deer in the middle of the road jumped out of the way and pranced into the woods that lined it. The car stayed on the road, but swerved left and right, on the edge of out of control.

When the car stopped, sideways now on the lonely paved road, he quickly flipped on the overhead light, and looked around his car, searching for the mysterious voice. He would have hit those deer at the speed he was going before he heard the voice. He thought he must be imagining things, but asked Hello? in a small, semi-scared voice. That’s when the car’s headlights flickered and died out, as well as the overhead one.

You were lucky tonight, Stephan. You may not be so lucky in the future.

Who’s there? Stephan grabbed the big metal flashlight he kept near his seat as he spoke, thinking only of his self-preservation.

You should have died tonight, Stephan. I have spared you… For now.

This is ridiculous! Who are you!? God? He got out of his car, shouting at nothing. He rarely felt like the fool, but he was getting there tonight.

Seek a man called John Ashkore, at the next full moon. He will be waiting for you at the Care Free Hotel, Room Four. Your luck can’t last forever Stephan.

What’s that mean? Who’s John Ashkore? Where is this hotel? He said, looking at the sky, then into the surrounding wood line. He noticed the car’s lights had come back on. He also noticed the moon was going down and the sun was starting to come up. How long had he been standing here?

Receiving no answer to his questions, he slowly got into his car and drove off. He intended to find this prankster of his and give him a few computer problems for his troubles.

Chapter 3

"One time a patron once asked if I thought I was God. I thought about it a moment and answered ‘No, but you may meet him soon enough.’ I siphoned his soul directly after my reply. He was a patron, but he broke the rule I had given him, which was ‘Tell no one of me, or our business.’ It turns out I had to kill him and his wife, which was unfortunate because she was rather beautiful. I sent their children gold for years after. It wasn’t out of guilt, but out of pity."

Gudesteo Batiz

Second Avatar of Death

Spring, 786 A.D.

Thomas Waide had been feeling run down since his paranormal encounter, more so than he had felt leading up to it. He didn’t feel like doing much of anything. He was less active and more exhausted all the time. He also had about three paper cuts from the business card he had written John Ashkore’s name and the time and place of the supposed meeting. He carried it everywhere, and always reassured himself it was there by feeling for it in his pocket. He didn’t know why, but he felt something about it was important. In the last two weeks since the night in his bedroom that he scribbled his notes on the card, he had been debating whether or not to meet with this John Ashkore. Today, when he looked in the mirror, and a ghostly white version of him had looked back, he had decided that he would indeed meet with him. The meeting would take place at the next full moon, the shadow had said, and that was tonight. The moon would rise in a few hours.

Being the CEO of a Fortune 500 company did have its advantages. Three days after that night, he decided to take a vacation from work. It’s not as though the company would fail without him there. The only drawback to taking this vacation was the loss of his extra income. He had quite a few ways of saving money in his company, while making a bit on the side - all of which were illegal, of course. Like the three million a month he saved by dumping his toxins at sea, or burying them in some third world country - anything he could do to make a buck.

He was being driven to the docks. His limousine driver was used to his odd requests, and this request was no different. He also had a couple bodyguards with him, just in case there was trouble. One could never be too careful in his line of work. Mr. Sanders and Mr. Smith, the two bodyguards, just sat there quietly. They knew their jobs well and never asked any questions. They were the best in the business. Supposedly they’ve never lost anyone they’ve guarded. Thomas made sure he was prepared for anything tonight. He checked his pistol under his coat out of nervous habit.

He had no idea what time exactly to be there, so he thought he’d come early. The sun was almost fully set as they pulled next to Warehouse 6. He had the area scouted out before-hand, of course. His men had reported the area all clear. The reports were correct, from what he could see through the limousine window. The dock around the warehouse was also abandoned, and looked like it hadn’t been used in quite some time, as it was in disrepair. To the North, Dock 7 was empty as well. To the South, Dock 5 was in use. There was a cargo ship there, and a number of people looked extremely busy loading crates onto it. The dock also looked abandoned, so he figured whatever was going on over there wasn’t exactly legal.

Without question or hesitation, the bodyguards exited the limo and searched the area when they pulled up. Mr. Sanders went to the front while Mr. Smith went around the back. Minutes later they reappeared and gave the all clear. No one was around, but they did find a table and two chairs set up inside the warehouse, which looked new. Tom supposed he was at the right place, now he just needed to wait for this John Ashkore fellow to show up.

* * * * *

The sun was setting as Stephan pulled the Taurus into the parking lot of the Care Free Hotel, which looked more like a cheap motel. It had taken quite some time to find. He tried finding it on the internet first. When that didn’t work, he had to resort to the phone book. Hard copy.

The hotel sign was lit up, but it actually read Car Fee Hoe. He wrinkled his nose at the look of the place. Talk about horrible. He had always preferred to stay in the nicer hotels. Cleaner ones. This one really looked like something out of a horror movie, though. He half expected to be visited by a man with a hockey mask and a chainsaw tonight.

The hotel consisted of one long building, separated into six rooms. At least, there were six doors, so he assumed there were only six rooms. He also assumed those same rooms were filled with roaches, from the look of the place. Boards covered up what looked like holes in more than a few places, in both the walls and the roof, and a few windows slots that were broken – partial glass still there. The wooden roof shingles looked mismatched on certain places. Hopefully it doesn’t rain He thought, because I didn’t bring an umbrella. The parking lot, if it could be called that, was just dirt. They actually had what looked like hitching posts in front of the hotel. Because a lot of people ride horses nowadays. He joked to his empty passenger seat.

He noted where the office was, which was on the end of the building, right next to room one. He parked, and looked around a little more. There was nothing around for miles. The last gas station he passed was one that had two pumps, and they didn’t even accept credit cards. The only reason it was even memorable to him was that the sign for gas had said ‘Unleaded – AnArm’, and ‘Premium – AndaLeg’ There were no other cars in site at this motel, so he assumed the person in the office either lived here or got a ride to work. He thought it was probably option one.

Why here, Mr. Ashkore? He asked to himself, and why me? Stephan had been thinking about this meeting since he received that strange invitation. At first he thought it was a setup. He had no intentions of getting caught by the law. He had thought about it that night over and over since it happened, and he concluded there was no way the government could have done what he had seen and felt that night. He decided to meet with this Ashkore guy. It was supposed to be a full moon tonight, so he assumed this was the right time and place. Well, it would be the right time in a little while.

He went into the office, which looked just as crappy on the inside as the outside, and smelled much worse. The man had apparently stepped out, because he was alone in the room. On a normal day, Stephan would see what he could grab from the counter while it was free, such as credit card numbers, passwords, and the like. Unfortunately for him, there was a sign that said Cash Only! He also noted there wasn’t a computer there. He assumed he wouldn’t be using the internet tonight. Unfortunate. He rang the little bell on the counter for service. Like the rest of this place, the bell barely worked.

The man, who was in the back watching an extremely old looking black and white television, looked up and grunted. He lazily stood up, and moved to the counter. He looked Stephan up and down, and just shook his head. Then he sat down at the counter, folded his hands in front of him on his lap, and just stared at him.

After a few moments, Stephan decided there weren’t going to be any niceties here. He took the initiative. Yeah, I need a room, preferably number four.

The man reached over for a key, and said That’ll be two hundred a night, kid.

Two hundred!? Are you an insane old man? I’m pretty sure the quality of your hotel doesn’t exceed twenty dollars a night!

The man moved to put the key back, un-phased by Stephan’s outburst. Suit yourself. The next hotel’s about a hundred miles south. He started to stand.

Stephan needed that key. He was too curious at this point not to see this through. He was going to make this Ashkore pay for the hotel tonight, one way or another. Fine, two hundred. He said, fishing the money out of his bag. Luckily, he always carried two grand in cash, Emergency Funds, he called it. With that, he signed the book sitting on the counter with one of his many fake names, and took the key to room four.

He walked out of the office and proceeded to move his car in front of his room, all the while talking to himself as he drove the short distance to his room. Care Free Hotel, check. Room Four, check. Full moon tonight, check. Thinking to himself that everything was in place, he was ready to meet this prankster. The sun had finally set while he was getting the room.

Once he was finished parking, he pulled out his backpack and locked his car. I wouldn’t want to be stuck out here in this place. He mumbled, looking around. Armed with his backpack, he put the key in the lock and opened the door, stumbling to get the key out as he entered. Finally getting it out of the lock, he closed the door and turned to look at the room.

He was totally thrown off guard when he looked around and was standing in the foyer of what looked like a huge mansion.

This can’t possibly be my room. He said out loud. When he turned around to go back through the door, he found the door on this side was carved oak. It was also locked by a lock his key didn’t fit. He turned around and stood with his back against the door.

OK… This is weird… He said as a man in a black suit came down the grand looking stairway across the foyer.

Chapter 4

We call them clients now. I guess it’s better than calling them vassals, or patrons. Why Clients? Wouldn’t that mean we’re here to serve them, when in fact they serve Death? They serve us! Death doesn’t care what we ask of them, so long as we extend their lives so that they may directly, or indirectly as it may be, provide more souls to Him.

The term Clients is more politically correct though, and that’s what the world is coming to, right? Politics, Sheesh! I’d spit on it if it had a physical likeness. Maybe I’ll go spit on a congressman.

I do find it odd that He keeps up on things like the terminology that we mortals use.

Sometimes I think he may be a little bit human after all.

Tomas Kinsos III

Fourth Avatar of Death

June, 1972

John was sitting in his lounge, awaiting his client’s arrival. He had already read the files on these two, but he was skimming them over while he waited. Francis ensured he knew everything about whoever he was dealing with. He sipped his whiskey, not even tasting it. Usually on these nights, the ones where he had to work, he rarely tasted anything, or felt anything. He usually just put his emotions in the deepest recesses of his mind. If he let his emotions out, he may just end up losing everything he had here. He may end up not doing the job he swore he would do.

He wondered where Mr. Waide was at. Was he going to have to go to the warehouse? Perhaps he was going to be the third ever no-show, or perhaps he wasn’t going to come to the meeting until John showed. John had an incident like that once. His Boss was insistent that he be saved, at any cost, so John met him at his place. It was awkward, but the ends justified the means.

John Ashkore’s butler, Francis, had told him that one of his clients had arrived. The child he mentioned, which John assumed was Stephan Alsna, was sent to the library. He took out his old pocket watch, flipped it open and read it. Right on time, he thought. There have only been two clients who never showed. Most of them are just curious, and who wouldn’t be? If you received a calling from a shadow, wouldn’t you be curious enough to want answers? A few of them instinctually know what the meeting is for, or they think they do. John never did find out what happened to the two that never made the meeting with him. He simply didn’t care. Their loss. He would say whenever he thought about it.

After emptying the last of his whiskey in a final gulp, he stood up and prepared himself for the meeting. He looked in the mirror. He could easily pass as a lawyer or highly placed executive in his expensive suit to a common person. The only thing he was missing was the briefcase. With his photographic memory, he had no need to carry notes with him, that and the fact that he’d done this so many times before. One-thousand-four-hundred and thirty-eight times, to be exact. He kept a mental tally. Without the suit, he would be average looking. He had brown hair, loose, not slicked back; no facial hair; and was only three inches shy of being six foot tall. All in all, he thought he looked like a well-dressed average guy.

On his way out, he grabbed his Death Stick. That’s how he sometimes referred to it anyways. His master once told him the Artifact’s true name, and he knows it instinctually, on a sub-conscious level, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it was – even with his photographic memory. He does remember the minute after he was told, and he remembered trying to pronounce it, and failing miserably. Perhaps that was a security measure, so no one but John could use it.

This Death Stick of his was most commonly referred to as the Artifact in all his House’s histories. It was the hilt of a dagger, but there was no blade. The top of the hilt was flat, like a blade was never there. The bottom was carved out to look like a demon’s head, with its mouth open. It was six inches long, and three inches around, exactly. John has had it analyzed more than a few times. It’s made of an unknown material that looks like semi-transparent onyx, with a silver looking core. The core seemed liquid, sometimes it even seemed alive. He thought that perhaps it was, given the nature of what he did with the Artifact. It also had old, untranslatable runes on the side that blended in with the onyx looking material. He put it in the specially made holster inside of his jacket and headed out into the hallway.

His House, if it could be called his, was extremely large. It had sixteen bedrooms, twelve bathrooms, two kitchens, an indoor pool, hot tub, a sauna, and all sorts of valuables collected since its inception. There was no outdoors, or at least no way to get outside that John had discovered. Besides, he thought, I don’t think I’d want to go outside, given where I think I am. He smiled darkly.

John didn’t purchase most of what was in his house; it was inherited with his job. Some of it he did buy, like almost everything in the parlor he was just in, a few books in the library, and he had his bedroom redone two weeks after he had taken over - the previous one was ugly as sin. How Tomas Kinsos could have lived in it was beyond John. He had four predecessors. Each had a term of a five centuries, save two, one who had a long seven-hundred-year term, while another had a short three-hundred-year term. The latter was removed from office for abusing his powers. John often thought of how one would Abuse the power, given what he did. He had read the complete history of the house, from beginning to end, multiple times since he took office seven years ago. He was still in the grey about a few things, like where his house was exactly, and how the Artifact actually came to Earth if his Master couldn’t touch the mortal plane. There were also a few responsibilities of his job he was in the dark about.

Finally reaching the library, he stopped in front of it to wait for Francis to announce him.

* * * * *

Stephan waited in the library. And waited, and waited - until he simply gave up waiting on this guy to show up. He was pretty freaked out to begin with, being transported from the cheap hotel to a rich looking mansion, and then locked in said mansion. After that butler guy showed him to the library and gave him a soda, he calmed down a bit. Not totally, but a little bit, at least.

Since being in the library, he noted that there must have been books ranging in the thousands or more, and they were in no particular order. Having taken one off the shelf and flipping through it at random, which was written in some foreign language, he quickly threw it on the table with a disgusted look, and mumbled What’s the deal with this guy’s book fetish?

Having perused about five books, he was tired of waiting. He grabbed his bag and headed towards the door. It opened inwards as soon as he put his hand on the knob, forcing him to jump back a little. The butler that had brought him here stood at the entrance looking at him curiously for a moment, and then announced John.

Mister John Ashkore. He announced in a loud, but dull sounding voice.

John strode into the library, not even looking at Stephan. He headed straight for the table where Stephan had thrown down the books, and sat on the wall side, facing the room, and Stephan, when he would sit down. He didn’t say one word, just took a seat, and leaned back. The chairs around the table were large, old, and very comfortable.

Stephan looked dumbfounded. So what now? If you wanted to hire me for a job, my rates have gone up exponentially with all of your game playing.

You’re not here for a job. John said solemnly.

So what am I here for? Stephan was really confused now.

Have a seat. Stephan, he said waving his hand to the chair opposite him, then looked over at the butler, Could you give us some wine, and the paperwork please. Francis just bowed, and poured the wine. John had a considerable wine cellar. It was started when the house was founded, and he buys about five hundred bottles a year. He still has bottles from centuries passed. Today’s variety was a hundred years old, more or less.

Stephan took the seat across from John Ashkore, slowly and cautiously. Are you with the feds?

No, I’m not. I didn’t bring you here to arrest you. I brought you here to spare your life.

What?! Stephan jumped back up. I’m not sure if you can tell, but my life doesn’t need sparing. I’m doing quite well on my own thank you very much! The volume of his voice was between shouting, and a high pitch whining.

How long do you think your life will last? John asked, patiently. This always happened, he knew the routine. First came denial or the I don’t need your help, then came the scared puppy dog look, then came acceptance. It was getting past the denial that was always the trick. Tell me, what happened to you the night that you received the message? Was it a near death experience? Possibly even something that should have killed you, but you stayed alive due to a voice coming to you? The moment he said that, Stephan looked at him with wide eyes. Bingo, hit the nail on the head, as usual. John never knew exactly what his Master did, nor does he know what conversations were held, he was just told about the people who are going to show up, or some clue about who he was sent out to save. In the case of the latter, he is never given names, just clues as to who it is. The histories John read mention some sort of rules that say his master can’t directly touch the mortal plane unless it’s to collect a soul and ferry them to the other side, or wherever they go after their body dies. That’s why his Master has an Avatar. That’s why he has John. Though he never understood why he can approach the people to tell them to meet John, but not give John names of people he has to save. It was definitely a complex system.

Stephan sat down slowly, trying to sort through his emotions. John looked at him quizzically. It’s always interesting to see the reactions of people. Apparently, in the old days, the Avatars were held as godlike figures that were revered. People did what they said without hesitation. Nowadays though, it’s like pulling nails to get your point across. Luckily John had some experience in this department.

So… why am I here? Stephan said in a quiet voice, almost as quiet as a mouse.

You are here because I have the ability to stave off Death, for a time. Think of it as an extension, if you will. You get more time to do what you want with your life. Some people up and change their very existence. I’m not asking you to do that. In fact, I’d like to see you go on doing what you’re doing. It was true. Most people renounced their evil ways and tried to make something out of their life after John helped them out. It was unfortunate. The whole point in staving off Death was to ensure those people who took lives via actions in theirs, whether directly, or indirectly, lived longer than they should. In Stephan’s case, it was simple. Today’s society can’t live without their computers. Stephan disrupts society with his work. Some people, when ruined either financially or by other means such as revealed secrets, would quickly lay down their lives rather than face the outcome. If John had morals about life, he wouldn’t have even been a candidate for this job. Luckily, he didn’t have many.

Stephan’s mind was racing. He had a million questions, and no answers. Finally, he just started throwing them out there. "Who are you? What do you mean you’re here to ‘save’ me? How can you even do that? Do you work for God, or Satan, or something?! I still have no idea how I even got here! I don’t even know